Echo Gallery
by xXsilentxwhisperXx
Summary: Everything around her ceases to matter as she stares into the vivid silver eyes of her saviour. But she is spent, and without the monster's hold keeping her upright, she falls, right into the dragon's open wings."


Title: Echo Gallery  
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley  
Prompt: "Dragon"  
A/N: Prompt courtesy of the lovely QueenStrata, because without it, I wouldn't have written fic. Anyways Draco/Ginny is my OTP for Harry Potter, but this is my first fic for the pairing, so constructive criticism is always welcome. And uh....Happy Holidays, all!

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The general consensus amongst her family and her peers is that she escaped relatively unscathed from the horrors of her first year. Even immediately after the incident, she functioned normally, though she might have been somewhat quieter than usual during that first month back home. They forget that there are some scars that cannot be seen, and in their own desire to ensure her safety and stability, they do not notice what they should.

The night is still and quiet, and starlight streams through the windows of the circular dormitory high in Gryffindor Tower. In her bed, tossing and turning, though never making a sound, Ginevra Weasley dreams.

_She walks slowly through the empty corridors; they look familiar, though she cannot place where or when she has seen them. Mirrors of all shapes and sizes surround her, showing reflections she would not see. So she ignores them, and treads steadfastly forward, not stopping even when she reaches what appears to be a dead end. The rough stone wall slides open with barely a whisper and she continues forward. Eventually, she comes to a halt, this time in front of another mirror. This one stands freely; its gilt edges are too sharp to be considered aesthetically pleasing, and the tarnished frame lends to the sinister aura the looking-glass exudes. She reaches out blindly to touch the sharpest point of the lot and a perfect bead of blood wells on her fingertip. She brings her pale digit up so she can examine it; the stark contrast of crimson liquid on snow white skin strikes her as both beautiful and grotesque. After a moment's observation, she places her hand gently on glass in the centre of the mirror. _

_The single drop of blood spreads out from her hand in an even coating, and a tiny voice in the corner of her mind suggests that blood, or any liquid, really, should streak down from one spot, and certainly should not spread upwards. But it does, and soon enough a fine vermilion sheen covers the glass. Finally, she looks at herself. A face that is not her own stares back at her, crimson eyes seeming to burn into her own irises until all she sees is red. The face repulses her and she tries to step away, but finds herself paralyzed. _

_Slowly, a body materializes in the glass, bit by bit in a sick mimicry of a Cheshire Cat. She tries again to move, to will her body away from the perversion of nature before her; her feet refuse to obey her commands, and she very nearly topples over in her attempt to get away. Before she falls, though, an arm darts out through the glass and a translucent hand catches hold of her own. _

_Now her body responds to her desires, and she jerks backwards as though burned by the touch. Her action doesn't help, though, and instead of releasing herself from the monster in the mirror, she instead yanks it forward until only its lone foot remains locked inside its glass prison. It struggles to free itself for a few seconds, giving her the time she needs to retreat to the opposite side of the room. _

_The monster positions itself directly across from her, all the while keeping its gaze locked onto hers. She finds herself drawn towards it, despite her mind's fervent protests for her to flee, to run as far away as possible. In a futile effort, she turns, only to find that the room's stone walls have been burnished to a smooth finish, more reflective than any silver-backed glass could ever be. With a speed she can only assume was brought on by a summoning charm, she is in the center of the room, pressed up against the monster's chest, its arm wrapped around her neck in a violently possessive gesture. It appears to be trying to say something, though all that comes out is a soft, sibilant hiss. Regardless, the noise must have some power, because she goes slack and the creature's long, thin fingers skitter over her exposed collarbone and up her neck like spiders. She shivers involuntarily at the touch, so clearly lecherous and malevolent in its intent. Her eyes, the only parts of her that can still move according to her own will, dart from place to place in the room, looking for some escape, some flaw in the perfect obsidian that taunt her by reflecting her situation back at her a thousand fold. Finding none, she closes her eyes; she will not bear witness to her own demise. _

_She doesn't know what to expect when it comes. She never will, for it never will come. As if in response to her total lack of hope, the walls themselves seem to shake, threatening to crumble around her, a fitting metaphor for her broken soul. But the walls do not crumble. Instead, the wall before her slides up, this time with a loud screech as the stone grinds against the ceiling. _

_She hears it before she sees it: the shriek of a dragon, fierce and protective, sending a jolt of what might be hope up her spine. When she opens her eyes, she is nearly blinded by the shine of a thousand glimmering green scales. The dragon roars again and the obsidian around her shatters into a million shards, that fall through the air like a rainstorm of black diamonds. The red eyes of the monster reflect in each one, but she no longer notices them. Everything around her ceases to matter as she stares into the vivid silver eyes of her saviour. But she is spent, and without the monster's hold keeping her upright, she falls forward, right into the dragon's open wings. _

When she wakes up late the next morning, Ginny doesn't remember anything except mercury eyes pulling her out of the monster's grasp. As she dresses and rushes out of the door, she does not see the small model of a green and silver dragon that has made its home in a wooden box on her bedside table, or the black onyx pendant it wears on a delicate silver chain around its neck.


End file.
